


Control

by Rojia



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, Manipulation, Mind Control, Self Harm, Shorts, Violence, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, general winter soldier related trigger warning, heavily implied stucky, not hydra trash party as far as i know, possible self harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-12-21 11:08:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11942892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rojia/pseuds/Rojia
Summary: The Asset doesn't listen, it doesn't respond, it just gets pointed at something and let loose.  It kills anything and everything it deems a threat, it doesn't leave survivors.That's why they're so confused when it stops dead in its tracks and stares.





	1. Hello

**Author's Note:**

> This is likely going to be just a series of short little chapters all housed in one universe. It's a little bit of an exploration of why Pierce is the handler in CA:WS, and it's all utter nonsense but I hope you enjoyed. I'm pretty sure this doesn't fall into hydra trash party? If it would be considered that and people would like me to tag it as such so it can be found/blacklisted let me know please.

They said over and over that this was a bad idea.

 _Don’t do it_ , they said, _it’s been awake too long and it’s going to_ … but the higher ups never really listened. They didn’t care about it’s well being or even it’s general maintenance. They just wanted to show it off to the newest members of their little club and they didn’t care about anything else. 

It was the last thought the man had as the Asset stared him down, fingers tight around his throat until the metal wrenched and twisted and snapped his neck. There was no stopping it, no slowing it down, the others would be no help given how hard they were to control. The handlers had all gone first, rushing in to try and do something about it but nothing had come of it except a pile of dead bodies and a lot of screaming.

That was why the men that had been brought in were running and scrambling against the massive doors, trying in vain to pull the metal back, the only person who was still alive and knew the code failed to punch it in again as _it_ turned on them.

The last remaining guard turned his gun on the Asset, but he wasn’t fast enough, couldn’t be fast enough. The muzzle of the gun went up and lodged under his jaw, clasped in a metal hand, as the man was punched a real flesh and blood and sinew finger slipped into the trigger guard to pull back roughly. 

Most of these men were older, politicians, men that had never seen someone die before and were stunned at the spray of red and brain that washed over them all. One was younger, here with his father, and he did the only thing he could think to do. He didn’t hesitate to step in front of his father and hope they could get the door open before this thing descended on him. There was no chance, no hope, and they all knew it.

The second the Asset looked at him he froze.

The man and the weapon stared at one another and the man felt his chest heaving as he tried to breathe properly, tried to calm himself, but those gray eyes were locked on him like he recognized him and that was more terrifying than when he had been moving. 

“SPUTNIK!” 

The word rang out across the expansive chamber, reverberated off the metal pipes and tubes and even the chair itself. The man watched as the Asset went an entirely different sort of still and tipped forward into the air only to crash down flat on its face on the concrete floor.

The man kept staring long after the word stoped echoing around them all, just watching the body laying flat on the floor at his feet and marveling at how he’s still alive. Whatever handler or scientist broke into the room and stopped him is the thing that finally breaks through to him, some aide or another on the floor going over the limp form like he’s checking it for damage as a soldier of some kind barks the question at him again. “Sir?” He asks, although he’s already fallen into attention without regard for who this man is or if he outranks him, “What..?”

The soldier repeats himself, “Why did the Asset stop?” 

The man shakes his head, “I don’t.. Why _did_ he stop? What happened?”

“It.” The soldier corrects, although the man doesn’t understand what at first, “It stopped and stared at you. Who are you soldier?”

His spine snaps straighter, “Pierce, Sir. Lieutenant Alexander Pierce, 101st airborne...” 

“Сэр.” 

Someone interrupts them and holds up a file, old by the look of it and labeled all in cyrillic. Alexander Pierce can’t see into it but the man who had been asking him questions is glancing between the file and him like it means something. The soldier holds up some kind of photo from the file and glances between it and the young man in front of him, the other man murmuring things in Russian and gesturing to him and the Asset in turn.

“Alexander Pierce.” He finally says, and the young man’s spine snaps straighter still, “How would you like a job?”


	2. listen

“I’m sorry you want me to what!?” Alexander asked the man who was holding out a knife to him. This soldier hadn’t even given him his name, all he’d done was usher him into a private room and have him sit there through what he could only assume was someone being murdered based on the screaming.

Now they were standing to one side of the room next to what must be a two-way-mirror and on the other side at a metal table is sitting the Asset. It’s not moving, not saying anything, just sitting utterly still with it’s eyes and hands on the table and this soldier is trying to hand him a knife.

“Go in, and give him this, and then have him do something, stick himself, carve something in the table, whatever you like.”

Alexander is pretty sure he’s never looked at someone with as much disbelief as he is using right that moment, and the psychologist, or the man he assumes is the psychologist, steps forward. When he opens his mouth the English is there, but it’s garbled and half unintelligible under the accent, but Alexander is pretty sure he follows. “Before it vas Asset, it vas man.” He holds out the photo from the file and Alexander Pierce sees Steve Rogers for the first time. “This is best friend, he vas in army, he look like you.” 

Sure. Maybe. There’s a similarity he can’t really argue but also doesn’t want to acknowledge. “So.. you want me to go in there and die because I look like this man?”

The soldier scowls, still holding out the knife, “If something goes wrong we have protocols….”

“Protocols like out there?” Alexander jerks a finger over his shoulder, pointing to the door that lead out into the chamber where they had all almost died not an hour ago. “No offense sir but I retired out after the war, I’m a civilian, you can’t tell me what to do…”

“You said you wanted a job. You now work for the state department.” The psychologist reaches into his pocket and produces some form of temporary ID. “You’re job is to do as I say.”

Alexander visibly isn’t happy about it as he takes the ID, as the soldier tells him what he wants him to do, or as he’s lead to the other room. He’s not comfortable with the Russian guards at his back that follow him in, and he’s incredibly uncomfortable when the Asset’s eyes flicker up to his face and then drop back to the table. He pulls out his chair and sets the knife on the table as he takes a seat. He tenses like he’s waiting to get stabbed but the Asset doesn’t move, just flicks its eyes back up to his face and down again. He looks over at the mirror and frowns, but he can’t bring himself to look away for more than a second. This thing, the Asset, it’s dangerous and he feels like prey dangled in front of a predator. “Hi.”

The Asset doesn’t look at him, just toward him, more at his shoulders and the general area of his face then at his eyes. 

Somewhere behind Alexander the two guards click the safeties off their guns. “Could you….” He he sits back in the chair to keep himself as far back as he can from it, “Shit.” He shifts around again trying to settle himself and his mind at the same time. “Could you…. take that,” He gestures to the knife, “Please? And not stab me with it.” 

The Asset reaches out and lifts the knife up by the blade in his left hand, his metal hand that won’t get hurt by the sharp edge.

Alexander lets out a shaky breath he doesn’t seem aware he was holding. “Can you… carve something into the table?”

The Asset flicks his eyes up to him again, closer to actually looking at him that time. He turns the knife so it’s held almost like a pencil in his metal fingers and scratches out a few lines, vaguely in the shape of the red star on his shoulder. 

Alexander moves like he’s going to get up and there’s a knock on the mirror. He looks at it, what the hell do they want? It seems to dawn on him as he slowly lowers himself back into the chair that they want him to keep pushing, do more. “Shit this is a bad idea.” 

The Asset’s eye flick up to him in confusion and then to the men behind him, and then back to the star he’s still scratching into the table.

“Stop, please.” The Asset stops scratching immediately and the silence is jarring. “Can you… can you prick your finger with it?” He pokes the pointer finger of one hand with the other, as if to show him.

The Asset flips the knife faster than he should be able to, the tip buries itself into the pad of his flesh and blood pointer finger easily and he doesn’t even flinch, just flicks his eyes from the poor demonstration up to Alexander’s face to see if that’s what he wanted. 

It was not what he wanted but he fakes a smile.

There’s another knock on the mirror and Alexander closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to keep pushing. What if he pushes too far and it kills him? A deep, slow breath in and out. “Thank you.” It comes out of his mouth but it sounds odd, wrong. “Can you, would you…” He doesn’t want to say it because as much as he believes in the cause this is all a little much for him to take in the span of an hour and a half, so he drags his finger across the palm of his hand.

The Asset watches the gesture and with a speed he still isn’t entirely sure is possible Alexander watches as it pulls the knife out of it’s finger and jams it into its palm. The knife pushes in until he’s sure it’s going to come out the other side and he jumps backward, makes a noise he’s not entirely proud of, and topples his chair in an attempt to back away. The Asset just holds out it’s palm to show him, like a child that’s made something and is just so proud to show you what he’s done.

One of the guards steps forward and pushes Alexander out of the way, and that’s all Alexander knows before the Asset is on the table and launching himself at the man, landing on him with his metal hand clasped around his skull, pressing him into the concrete with the augmented weight of his body in a way that leaves a sickening crunch echoing around him as it turns and sends the knife flying right past Alexander’s chest and into the other guard. There’s a useless spray of bullets as the man’s gun goes off and fires into the ceiling, leaving a trail of holes and cinder block dust to mark his fall, but Alexander doesn’t have time to worry about that because it’s moving again.

He flinches after he hears the sound of the knife being jerked roughly out of the part of the guard’s neck it had buried itself in and doesn’t expect it when the Asset turns and holds out a still bleeding hand, knife blade clasped between his fingers. It’s offering up the knife, waiting for Alexander to take it, and only after he takes the handle does it go back around the table and sit with its hands in plain view.

There’s a few short claps from the door and the soldier is there all smiles and nods. “Congratulations Alexander, you’ve just become the Asset’s handler.”


End file.
